


I Trust My Dream

by amooniesong



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fights, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Mask and Goggles, One Shot, Pining, Realistic Minecraft, Rescue, The Nether (Minecraft)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amooniesong/pseuds/amooniesong
Summary: The heat of the Nether was unbearable at the best of times - an endless, cavernous hellscape filled with lava and fire - but that heat was only amplified when fighting took place. George swung his axe down toward the closest Piglin, iron blade cutting through its shoulder as if it were nothing, and he raised his shield to block an incoming arrow. He cursed himself for not wearing any gold: it was a stupid mistake and now it had cost him dearly, with a dozen Piglins surrounding him and more on the horizon.He’d left his portal behind hours ago, there was no quick escape. Not from this.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 240





	I Trust My Dream

The heat of the Nether was unbearable at the best of times - an endless, cavernous hellscape filled with lava and fire - but that heat was only amplified when fighting took place. George swung his axe down toward the closest Piglin, iron blade cutting through its shoulder as if it were nothing, and he raised his shield to block an incoming arrow. He cursed himself for not wearing any gold: it was a stupid mistake and now it had cost him dearly, with a dozen Piglins surrounding him and more on the horizon. 

He’d left his portal behind hours ago, there was no  _ quick escape.  _ Not from this. 

George was a good fighter. Sure, when he typically engaged in combat it was side by side with Dream and Sapnap (and even  _ he  _ would admit that both men were better at fighting than him) but he could still hold his own. His skills were nothing to be laughed at. That being said fighting in the Nether, alone, against a seemingly endless number of mobs was an entirely different experience. He knew that if he remained where he was for too much longer he’d simply be surrounded on all sides and would quickly lose that war of attrition. 

His best bet was to run, to find somewhere to stand his ground where the Piglins were forced to fight from one direction, and slay them that way. If he thought he stood any chance in just running like hell he would, but he didn’t let the thought cross his mind for more than a second. Indecision would cost him time, and he needed every second he could get.

So George turned on his heels, iron boots digging into the netherrack beneath his feet and crumbling like gravel as he pushed off and started to run. As he moved through the hot air he switched to a more defensive position, hooking his axe from the belt at his waist and angling his shield to protect as much of his body at once as he could. His legs were still exposed, but he hoped that if any arrows were on target his armour would keep them from piercing his body and leaving him injured and unable to run. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, letting luck and fate play out however they chose, he turned his attention to the horizon. There was a lot of lava - a  _ lot _ \- and without a potion of fire resistance he didn’t want to risk getting too close, but before that there seemed to be some kind of shelter. 

George had heard of Bastion’s before, though he’d never seen one in person. He knew that they were incredibly rare, incredibly old, and mostly eroded. They were relics of a past era.

_ Bingo.  _

He’d break his way in and hide until the horde gave up on their hunt, and then he’d make his way back to the portal and the Overworld. He wouldn’t admit to Dream the mistake he’d made - he’d  _ never  _ hear the end of it if he did - and everything would just be normal again. Normal and safe. George took in a deep breath, it was only a matter of time until things were normal and safe.

George had managed to put some distance between himself and the Piglin’s that were chasing him down, so he allowed himself time to carefully traverse the steep, almost cliff face like descent to the foot of the Bastion. From where he stood, there was no obvious way in, so he grabbed his pickaxe and began to mine. His diamond axe made quick work of the blackstone bricks and after several had been dislodged it was easy enough to pull more aside. He’d worked quickly - or so he thought - but as he stepped into the ancient structure he heard the familiar sound of angry snorts catching up. There was no more time to waste if he wanted to survive.

Iron boots sounded much different on blackstone than netherrack, and there was no disguising his presence now. He needed to find a place to hide and then he needed to stay still, stay silent, and wait. Patience had never been George’s strong suit - Dream had told him that plenty of times before - but today he would need to make it count. He ran along a corridor, avoiding the crumbling holes in the ground, and followed its turns until he found himself at a deadend. He wasn’t sure how smart the Piglins were, but he  _ hoped  _ they wouldn’t notice as he used netherrack he’d gathered on his journey to block the path off several paces from the end. It wasn’t a lot of room, but if he was supposed to keep still it surely shouldn’t matter.

With the last block placed, he was encased in a tiny dark box, with limited air, too much heat, and a fairly reasonable amount of hope that he’d get out before long and be able to start back toward the portal without an issue.

George let himself sit on the ground, cross-legged, and calmed his breathing down. It took a minute before he stopped panting and could pay attention to movement outside of his netherrack box, and when he did he decided that he wished he hadn’t.

The sounds of Piglin grunts had gotten louder. Not just because they were closer - which he was certain they were - but because it sounded like there were  _ more.  _ He wasn’t an expert on the Nether - not in the way Dream was - and he started to doubt his initial thoughts about the Bastion. Maybe it wasn’t as abandoned as he thought, or perhaps some of the Piglins were smarter than he’d first considered and they’d gone to bring even more backup with them.

Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

He allowed himself to bring his legs closer to his body, iron boots scraping against the brick floor as his knees came to his chest, and he heard himself swallow. His mouth was dry and his throat was becoming hoarse with every continued breath of hot air he gulped down, but unless he stopped breathing entirely he had no other choice.

Leaning his head back he felt something wooden press against the back of his neck. The last thing he expected to find here was  _ wood,  _ there were no red or warped forest biomes nearby and - with nothing else to do in his small box - curiosity got the better of him. Upon looking over his shoulder he realised that it was a chest, and he wondered if there would be anything inside that might help him escape. Maybe there’d be some food, or perhaps a potion, or even some gold armour that would allow him to pass peacefully. It was worth looking, right?

George let a moment pass, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps fade ever so slightly, before he turned his entire body and reached out to rest his hands against the lid of the chest. One undid the latch at the front, fingers moving quickly to avoid the metal burning his skin, before he pushed it open slowly. The hinges of the chest creaked, as if it hadn’t been opened in years, and that was the moment he realised his mistake.

On all sides, all at once, blocks began to break. The snorts, grunts and oinks he’d heard before were louder, angrier, and much more persistent. His eyes widened, his hands moved away from the box and the lid crashed down with a heavy thud (giving away his position to any Piglin that hadn’t already figured it out). If he’d reacted a moment earlier, maybe he’d have managed to get to his feet before the walls were broken and his cover was blown.

But he hadn’t. He wasn’t fast enough. And he saw a strangely hoof-like fist hurtling towards his face before everything went dark and quiet.

When he next opened his eyes, George wasn’t sure where he was.

His vision was blurry, his head was heavy and pained, and every motion felt laboured. So rather than try and take in everything at once - something that was almost guaranteed to overwhelm him - he decided to move through his experience in stages. That would, he hoped, make it a little easier to understand what was going on.

George started with what he could feel. He could feel heat -  _ so much heat -  _ and he could feel pain in his throat and lungs. It was much more obvious than the hoarse tickle he’d felt last time he’d been conscious, and it meant that every breath felt like it was covered in spikes, scratching its way down his throat. He wanted to cough, but he realised he could feel something across his lips. 

Rope. Had he been gagged? Not just gagged, he realised as he tried to sit up, but his hands were bound behind his back and his ankles tied together. All of these things were very bad signs, but George continued through his plan. He’d worry about it when he had the full picture.

When it came to what he could smell, the first thing that came to mind was sweat. He always smelled sweaty after a trip to the Nether, but this was on a different scale. It didn’t smell like he’d been toiling away for hours, it was almost as if he’d been there for days.

Surely not… Right?

He couldn’t taste anything but the dryness inside his mouth. It irritated him greatly. He moved swiftly on to what he could hear. Most noticeably he could hear the sound of Piglins around him - hoofed feet stepping on the blackstone bricks, snorts and grunts of quiet conversations in a language he didn’t understand - but among that he could hear the popping of lava. It didn’t sound too close, thankfully, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down.

Last up was his vision - something that had been gradually returning to him as he’d settled back into consciousness. He could see, clearly, that he was still in the Bastion, he could see that the place he’d thought was old and abandoned was actually very well populated, and he could see that he was on the ground. He was on the ground, tied up, having been captured by the Piglin’s and held captive while unconscious for days, his tools taken from his side and no sign of anyone else… 

His mind went in two separate directions. Firstly, why had the Piglin’s captured him? They were known for being murderous and brutal, and kidnapping simply didn’t seem  _ their style.  _ Secondly,  _ why had no one come for him?  _ If he’d been gone for days as he suspected, surely someone should have noticed his disappearance. Dream and Sapnap should know that he was gone by now. He’d never disappeared more than overnight without telling them in advance, and even then he’d usually allude to the fact that he was  _ considering  _ spending the night wherever his trip took him. He remembered that he’d said nothing of the sort to either of them before he’d left for the Nether.

They had to be looking for him, right? They wouldn’t just leave him…

It was a matter of minutes before the Piglin’s seemed to realise that their hostage had awoken, and when they realised that his eyes were open one stepped forward. The rope was removed from his mouth and a bottle was thrusted to his lips. 

George found that he drank immediately, though as he swallowed the liquid he began to think of all the awful things it  _ could  _ be. It could be poison, or a potion of harming, or weakness, but his body didn’t care. He was dehydrated, and even if it  _ was  _ one of those things it was still a liquid. It soothed the pain in his throat, it made him feel like choking with every breath a little less, and he appreciated it.

He didn’t feel any worse when it was removed from him, and he decided that he’d probably just drunk water.

There was no thought given to feeding him, although George knew that he would probably have been too weak to eat anything other than soup anyway, and instead the Piglin that had approached him from before started grunting at him.

_ At him. _

It was trying to talk to  _ him.  _

George couldn’t help himself. Despite his mind knowing that he was in a bad situation, despite his brain reminding him that he was restrained and helpless, and weak after days of unconsciousness, a laugh burst out from his lips. He laughed at the beast that stood over him, with a gold axe at its hip and sharp, off-white tusks that would do plenty of damage if it decided to headbutt him.

He laughed, almost wheezing, at the ridiculousness of this creature trying to speak to him. George was almost hysterical, his laughter leaving him faster than he could breathe, and the Piglin wasn’t best pleased with his reaction. Even as it reached for the axe, he didn’t stop laughing. When it raised the axe, he managed to stifle his reaction to a giggle, but even then he couldn’t stop himself.

When blood poured out of his shoulder and his head started to feel light, he giggled until he fell unconscious once again.

This time, though, it wasn’t like before. It wasn’t the kind of unconsciousness that was dark and deep, that dragged him down for days, but light and fitful. His mind was still very much active, almost aware of his surroundings and what was happening to him, and he had a cohesive thought process with a linear story that he could follow. 

Or, as he would call it if he was just a little more lucid, he was  _ dreaming.  _

He dreamed of Dream, and he was sure that his body probably giggled about that too. He dreamed of a time that they’d snuck out of the village together late at night - a few weeks ago - and had run hand in hand out into the meadow. Their feet travelled quickly, taking them through the long grass and only stopping when they were far enough away from the village that the torchlight was barely a flicker on the horizon. The two of them had fallen then, onto their backs, staring up at the stars in the sky.

“Can you see that?” Dream asked, a hand pointing up into the cool air above them and tracing out a line between a group of stars. “Ursa Major.” He said. George let out an  _ ahh,  _ but he didn’t expand any further. He liked the stars, sure, but he wasn’t like Dream. Dream had sat down once with a villager and a book from the library and had looked at every star in the sky, learning their names and the names of the constellations. He knew about the mythology behind them and the people that had discovered them. To George, they were simply pretty, but he  _ knew  _ they were so much more than just  _ pretty  _ to Dream, so he wasn’t about to let his lack of understanding get in the way of Dream’s excitement.

“What about that one?” George asked, his head rolling a little to the side to rest on Dream’s shoulder. From there, the sound of Dream’s wheeze was so much richer, and it seemed to fill the entire landscape around them. 

“Ursa Minor.” He said. “Ursa Major is the Great Bear, Ursa Minor is the Little Bear.” 

“That’s cool.” George said, trying to feign enthusiasm, and it just made Dream laugh harder. 

“You’re such an idiot, George.” He managed to utter between bursts of laughter, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink that even  _ George  _ could see, and an arm came to wind around George’s shoulders. 

It was a cold night, but with Dream holding him like this George couldn’t feel it. He just felt warmth. He felt warmth in his stomach as butterflies fluttered their wings, he felt warmth in his chest as his heart beat a little faster, and he felt warmth on his skin beneath Dream’s touch.

He felt like, if he wanted to, he could shift his position. He felt like he could sit up and pull Dream with him, like they’d look at each other with lidded eyes and all the unspoken words of years gone by would suddenly come out. 

But he blinked, and George was back in the Nether, and he realised that his dream had strayed somewhat from reality. Those words had never been said, the butterflies were still firmly tucked away in his stomach, and he wasn’t in a field at night with the man he loved but in the Nether surrounded by creatures that wanted him dead. He was bleeding - though he must have been in and out of consciousness for a while because the worst of it seemed to have stopped - and he was alone. The only hope he had came from the fact that he was in fact still alive and restrained. If the Piglins hadn’t killed him yet then surely that meant they believed someone was going to come to find him. Someone that they deemed was worth killing a little more than him.

And if they were clinging to hope that someone like Dream would show up, then surely  _ he  _ could cling to hope that Dream would appear too.

After all, he trusted his Dream.

In all honesty, George wasn’t sure how much longer he waited. He knew that he continued to drift between consciousness and sleep, he knew that water was thrusted to his lips on several occasions, and he knew that his stomach slowly started to gnaw away at him in hunger. Eventually, after what could have been anything between a few hours and a few days, something changed.

No longer could he hear grunts of Piglins and the popping of lava, but instead the shouts of people - friends - and the clattering of swords and shields. He could hear his name being called time and time again, with each cry more urgent than the last, and he could hear footsteps above his head. 

“Dream?” He asked weakly, unsure if his voice would even carry. “Sapnap?”

The movement above him stopped, replaced with shushing and whispers, so he tried again.

“G-guys?” His voice was quiet from being unused for so long, but it seemed to be enough to get the job done. 

“George!” He heard Dream shout - too real to  _ be  _ a dream - and bricks above his head started to be dislodged. The Piglin that had kept watch on him for however long he’d been kept there reached for its axe, but it wasn’t fast enough. A diamond sword cut through it’s neck and before it could even comprehend what had happened it was dead on the ground. Sapnap and Dream had jumped down from the floor above, with Sapnap keeping an eye out for any more Piglins approaching while Dream moved closer to George.

“George…” His voice was so much softer this time, tone a little lower, and George’s heart melted. He had no idea what he looked like but if Dream’s concerned gaze was anything to go by then he assumed it was  _ bad.  _ “We’ll talk about this when we get home.” Dream said, clearly having reached a conclusion to the conversation he’d had with himself in his mind, and his hands reached for the ropes tying his ankles together. “I was so worried about you.”   
  


“We.” Sapnap corrected.  _ “We  _ were worried about him. Save the rom-com until we get out, alright? If I die in the Nether I do  _ not  _ want the last thing I hear to be you two confessing to each other.”

“We’re not confessing  _ anything,  _ Sapnap.” Dream insisted, averting his gaze from George’s face and busying himself instead with the knots around his feet. “Do you trust me to use my axe?”

“Yeah.” George said weakly. “I just want to get out of here.”

“We’ll be home soon.” Dream reassured him, offering a gentle smile while he reached for his weapon. “Once you’re untied and we’re out of the Bastion you can go on my back and close your eyes. If you need to sleep, then sleep.”

“Okay.” He said quietly, the promise of  _ actual  _ rest tempting. Sure, he’d barely been conscious the last few days, but it hardly counted as sleeping. Not when most of the time it had either been heat induced or because of blood loss. But if he was in Dream’s arms then he would know he was safe, and his sleep would be peaceful and he’d awake well rested. 

One swing of Dream’s axe cut the ropes at his feet, and after shifting a little a second swing severed those behind his back. His wrists were red and raw, and it hurt to move them too much, but right now he forced that from his mind. Dream helped him to his feet and kept him steady as he wavered back and forth, before he was stable enough to start walking and the three made their way out. They didn’t bother looking for George’s tools - silently coming to the conclusion that whatever had been lost was easier to replace than him - and instead slowly made their way through the labyrinth of dark corridors. Since Dream and Sapnap had fought their way in, getting out was much easier and almost entirely uncontested.

When George finally saw the netherrack before him, the wastelands stretching out as far as the eye could see, he swore he could cry. 

Sapnap helped him onto Dream’s back and George wrapped his legs around his waist, Dream’s hands grabbing his thighs to hold him in place. His arms ended up wrapping around Dream’s neck and his chin tucked itself over his right shoulder, head tilting a little to the side as his eyes fluttered shut. As the only one really capable of fighting, Sapnap led the way, and George hummed to himself quietly before speaking.

“Dream?” He asked, feeling the man holding him turn his head a little in response.

“Yeah?”

“Love you.” 

George heard a quiet chuckle in response to his words, but it wasn’t one that ridiculed him. He’d known Dream for long enough to be able to tell that his chuckle was endearing, that he found the words  _ cute,  _ and for now that was enough for him. They could have a proper confession when they returned home, but at least Dream knew. 

“I love you too, George.” He heard a few minutes later. He wondered if Dream thought he’d fallen asleep - wondered if Dream was  _ waiting  _ for him to fall asleep to mention it - but that made no sense. Dream told him he loved him all the time, he wasn’t above begging for him to say the phrase in return, it was nothing new to them. 

He wondered, as he really did begin to fall asleep on Dream’s back, if the words finally meant something a little bit more. He wondered if in the Overworld he’d hear another gentle confession. Maybe out of earshot of Sapnap, maybe in the field looking at the stars again. Whatever happened, whenever and wherever it happened to be, he knew that it would be right. Dream had come for him -  _ his Dream  _ had saved him - and he trusted him with his life. It was, therefore, only fair that he also entrusted him with his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> everyone say "thank you vanya" for providing me with funds for a redbull so i could speedwrite this at 5am after george finished playing among us 
> 
> if you'd like to see more of me, check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonieiswriting) or join my [discord server](https://discord.gg/9y9BF7SMKc)! if you enjoyed reading, also consider leaving a kudos or comment. it's free, & you can always delete comments later!


End file.
